Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

‘Something like that. I can’t be sure, though.’

They both moved in close together, and regarded the distance where lights were flickering along a shoreline. There were spires there, glistening, and as they approached they could see people on the shoreline, one or two of them waving. The boat, through no control of Fulcrom, turned in the waters and began drifting in that direction. The water was black, the sky a phenomenally dark grey. There were no stars to be found, and clearly no sun, but it looked very much unlike the city of the dead under Villjamur. Just how many of these cities of the dead existed, Fulcrom had no idea. All he felt now was a continuation of that release from when he was killed, and an overwhelming sense of calm.

‘So where next, then?’ Lan asked.

‘Who knows? Wherever this boat takes us, I guess,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘Somewhere deep under Villiren. It doesn’t matter — we can probably handle anything now.’

In the cages, Brynd remained tense as the dragons lurched through the air. This transportation was far more erratic than the previous methods, but it seemed a trivial thing to be concerned about.

He held his helmet in his hands and examined the visor, staring at his own pale reflection. For a moment he felt the usual images of his past flicker into his mind, but then he began to empty his emotions once again. Dwelling on such things would mean his concentration would slip and he’d end up getting killed. His own Mourning Wasp — one of two in this cage — seemed to have been befriended by Frater Mercury, who slumped alongside it in the darkness of the cage, apparently communicating with it. Artemisia was attending to her own creature, a much smaller, red dragon barely any bigger than the Mourning Wasps.

Brynd felt remarkably isolated in the cage. He turned to Sergeant Tiendi, and even she seemed to be struggling in the violent flight of these dragons.

‘Is this what you hoped for, when you joined us?’ Brynd asked. She had only just become a Night Guard before the war in Villiren.

‘No, sir. It’s far better than that. We get to fly these wasps into an almost certain death situation.’

Brynd grunted a laugh.

‘Have you any idea what to expect?’ she asked.

Brynd kept staring at his reflection. ‘I told some of the others earlier to wipe their minds of expectations, because what we’ll probably see could be beyond comprehension or as quotidian as the place we’ve just left. It’s a civilian vessel, so I understand, but we’ve already seen the kind of evil it houses.’

Tiendi nodded, but remained resolute. ‘I’ll keep thinking in simple terms: we’re just deploying a bomb. Or, at least, a bomber who wants to kill himself.’ She indicated Frater Mercury. ‘What will his explosives do, precisely? They look no bigger than the kind of thing a cultist might use, but at that size it wouldn’t produce much, surely?’

Brynd glanced again at the small metallic devices strapped to Frater Mercury’s waist and chest. ‘I doubt they’ll be explosives in the conventional manner. He’s a person of incredible ability. No doubt he’ll be able to kill himself in the appropriate manner when the time comes.’

There was a small explosion somewhere nearby. The cage shuddered as the dragon plunged slightly, and Brynd gripped the rails while Artemisia pressed her hands against the roof for stability.

‘It is to be expected, commander,’ she called over, waving him back down to his seat. ‘These creatures are quicker. They have greater awareness. We will be quite safe.’

‘What’s going on?’ Brynd demanded.

‘We are being fired at, that is all.’

‘Are the decoys ahead of us?’

‘They are ahead and behind, and all around us. Our main strike force lies in the middle of the formation.’

‘How long now?’

‘A quarter of one hour at the most.’

Brynd put on his helmet and watched Tiendi do the same. They pulled their visors down and mounted the Mourning Wasps. Frater Mercury shuffled humbly underneath Brynd’s wasp, and he watched in amazement as two of the wasp’s legs suddenly scooped him up and secured him in place. Brynd placed his hands on the back of the wasp in a way he might do with a horse, and though it seemed absurd he felt it was necessary to ensure the creature felt some affinity with him.

Artemisia climbed onto her dragon. The three creatures lined up at the rear of the cage, facing outwards. They could feel the cage tilt as they began what must have been the final arc when they peeled away from the main squadron of dragons. Explosions came and went, noises bursting out of sight.

They were falling now, at high speed, gravity pushing Brynd back so hard he became instantly satisfied that the modified straps that the youths had made would hold him in place.

He positioned himself so he would be prepared to steer his mount. He looked across to Tiendi and she indicated her readiness with a salute. Artemisia remained totally fixed on the door of the wooden cage. Brynd indicated for the wasps to begin to hover; he felt the tiny vibrations of their muscles become something more distinct.

The dragon tilted. The door gave way to a crack of light, then a full-blown whiteness, then extreme winds, before the dragon levelled off to reveal their hideous destination.

Artemisia gave the word. Her dragon lunged out of the cage and the Mourning Wasps quickly followed.

They spiralled out into the sky, the Night Guard on wasps, following Artemisia’s silhouette, wind buffeting their descent. Brynd attempted to absorb what was going on around him — amidst the clouds, hundreds of creatures were spaced apart in rows, at varying distances, engaged in combat, and down below what he initially mistook for land was the dark scar of the Policharos — the sky-city. He glanced over his shoulder to see the Night Guard lined up behind him or drifting from the other cages, joining his ranks, alongside people who looked very much like Artemisia, on reptiles identical to her own. The sound of the wind managed to block out much of what was going on; he could not hear the cries of the dying or the clash of weapons — this was a kind of warfare he was totally unfamiliar with.

Directly above, dragons were engaged in skirmishes with similar-looking animals; missiles or bombs were exploding far away, and Brynd couldn’t be certain whether or not they were like the mute bombs or something more hideous. Tucked safely underneath his wasp, lay Frater Mercury.

Artemisia guided their large group in a graceful arc to the left, down towards the Policharos. It loomed into view, black and elaborate in detail. Little flickers of light shot across spires at the top; huge spiked structures leered out on multiple levels; there were platforms on which he could see tiny figures, some of them firing into the sky. Massive alien beings — or possibly statues — stood on others, looking out onto the battle.

Their attack force dashed towards the underside of the Policharos, but not quite all the way. They halted on one of the lowest levels, where there was a void amidst the black architecture. Artemisia levelled out and Brynd steered the wasp accordingly. Another glance to check everyone was following and then straight in towards the void, which turned out to be a doorway beyond a landing platform that headed into the Policharos.

As they flew in low over the platform, Brynd relaxed slightly, before steeling himself for what lay inside the sky-city, which had brought so much death to his world.

*

Walls and buildings appeared to be impossibly tall, lurching up into the blackness above. There were slits of green and purple light scattered around that appeared to be windows, but he was moving too fast to really know. Though Artemisia led the group, it was so dark in here that the benefits of having memorized the way were obvious. They hovered a few feet above the ground and sped along a winding route; their formation changed so that Brynd, carrying Frater Mercury, was at the centre of the group. Surrounded by Night Guard soldiers, he didn’t have to worry too much about attacks from any direction, so he could concentrate on their surroundings.